Chapter Ten #2
This must be something everyone else is familiar with because an excited tittering makes its way around the contestants.
Shantae hands a playing card to TC, and he puts it to his lips.
It stays there because he’s sucking in. Then he leans in toward Madison, and their lips touch with the card in between them.
I watch Madison inhale deeply, then turn away.
The card has been transferred to her lips.
As I’m calculating the amount of aspiration needed to keep the card in place, I realize in horror that the game will eventually make its way to me.
Madison passes the card to Bill, who then passes it to Beth Anne.
I’m starting to sweat. I know it’s not a real kiss, but I haven’t been intimate with anyone in years.
Plus, think about all the germs on that card—people severely underestimate how debilitating a summer cold can be!
Then Shantae’s warning about getting voted off replays loudly in my head.
I can’t mess up the first thing out of the gate.
Surely I can suck and blow, or at least “show adequate effort.” Before I can overthink, Javier turns toward me with the card on his lips.
I take a deep breath like I saw Madison do and lean in.
But as my lips make contact with the card, it falls and Javier’s lips crash into mine.
It takes me a minute to realize we’re kissing.
When I pull back sputtering for air, the other contestants are cheering, and Madison looks at me like a proud mother hen.
“Sorry, bella! When I see an opportunity, I have to go for it,” Javier says with a devilish grin.
I want to be pissed at him, and if it had been Cowboy Bill who pulled that little stunt, I would’ve broken his nose.
But Javier seems impossible to stay mad at, and despite being taken by surprise and almost asphyxiated by him, it wasn’t a bad kiss.
I don’t have time to process anything else because Shantae is “oohing” loudly.
She addresses the camera: “Things are already heating up here on Love Shack!” Which I take to mean I passed the first test. Then she turns back to us.
“Contestants, you have some time before your first one-on-one dates, so you can hang by the pool and get to know each other. Have fun, make connections, and I’ll see you later. ”
The second Shantae struts off and the cameras stop rolling, Javier pulls me aside. “I’m sorry, Grace. I just got caught up in my role.”
“It was certainly a surpri— Wait, what do you mean by ‘role’?”
“You know, how Kristina gives us all a character to play. Before the icebreaker, she told me I had to lean into my ‘Latin Lover’ role more.”
“What? She said that? Isn’t that stereotyping?”
Javier shrugs. “Yep. But I’m an actor. I’m used to being cast because I tick a box. Especially on reality TV.”
My heart breaks at the resignation in his voice. “Well, I’m not used to it, and I’m pissed on your behalf!”
Javier laughs. “I’m sure I’ll never live it down with my family after it airs, but if it means getting to kiss you, I’ll let Kristina objectify me any day.” He gives me a playful wink.
“You’re a shameless flirt,” I chide half-heartedly.
“Is it working?” he asks with a roguish grin.
I smile back, because it is kind of working.
But then I shake my head. “Hey, stop trying to distract me from injustice. I’m going to talk to Kristina.
” Javier starts to shake his head, so I quickly add, “I won’t tell her you told me, and it’s not just about you.
Trust me, I have bigger issues with this show.
If I ran my lab like this, we would’ve been shut down years ago! ”
Javier smiles and covers his heart. “Thank you for defending my honor . . . even after I sucked your face off.” I laugh and give him a gallant bow as I walk off to find Kristina. Yes, she’s intimidating as hell, but I also can’t stand by while she makes Javier feel marginalized.
I wait until she’s done bossing around a PA. When we’re alone, she addresses me as she jots down a note, “Yeah?”
She’s not even looking at me when I answer, “You can’t just make Javier into a token caricature for your show.”
When Kristina finally glances up at me, her expression is pitying. “That’s how reality TV works, Grace. Everyone has a role to play. It’s not just Javier.”
She consults her clipboard. “TC is our ‘Sensitive Musician,’ Beth Anne has the ‘Bitchy Southern Belle’ down pat, Bill is the ‘Good Ol’ Boy,’ Madison is our ‘Sweet Girl Next Door,’ and you’re the ‘Nerdy Fish Out of Water,’ which you’re crushing by the way.
It’s the conflicting personalities that make it a good show.
Which gives us high ratings, which attracts advertising revenue, which is how we can provide prize money at the end. ”
I’m shocked that she not only admits to assigning us stereotypes—like we’re archetypes in a classic literature lecture and not actual human beings—but also makes me feel bad about questioning it. Damn, she’s good.
She doesn’t wait for me to object. She just chirps, “Great chat. Thanks for the feedback.” Then she walks away. I stand there in shock. Is this how cutthroat all of Hollywood is?
I’m finally distracted by the grumbling of my stomach. I realize I haven’t eaten in hours, so the only thing I’m filled with is a healthy heaping of regret and a side order of desire to disown my friends for coercing me into this nonsense.